


Steve Rogers is Not a Whore

by romeonohomeo



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Jealous Bucky Barnes, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sex Worker Steve Rogers, This is angsty as fuck, it's not sad angst tho, with guest stars:
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-07 20:58:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8816041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romeonohomeo/pseuds/romeonohomeo
Summary: Bucky was the main provider for the house, seeing as Steve wasn't healthy enough to do manual labor. Money was tight. So, Steve did what he had to do to make ends meet.





	1. Not Supposed To Be Here

**Author's Note:**

> I'm alive! I've been particularly taken by Captain America as of late, so here's my contribution. Of course, none of this would be possibly without the amazing in-all-the-chaos on tumblr, as this all started as an rp! It lasted 10 hours long. It deserved a fic. Here you we go!

The economy had tanked and money was tight. Really tight. Steve wasn’t always guaranteed food in the morning, and their hot water was frequently shut off. Bucky was already working overtime every day, and Steve didn’t want to sit idle and watch him work his ass off. He was 19, and Bucky was 20. It was 1937, the tail end of the Great Depression.

 

He needed a job, one that paid well. His choices were slim, considering he couldn’t really do manual labor. So, he got a job. Not a great one, but hey. Beggars can’t be choosers.

 

Strip clubs weren’t too bad.

 

* * *

 

 

His hours weren’t ideal. He left at around 11pm and came back at 3am. He was still able to sleep in; it wasn’t like he was tired all the time. Bucky left for work at 5am. Steve was usually asleep anyways so he would never notice that he woke up at noon. All he’d have to do was roll out of bed, put on a sweater, and off he went for the night.

 

His coat would stay hanging on the coatrack, even in early December. He couldn’t afford to have it stolen. There was snow on the ground but he went without it.

 

The air was cold and stung his skin as he made the 15 minute walk to his place of employment. God, he really did feel sleezy. He was greeted by the usual girls at the door.

 

The girls liked him. He was small, cute. He wasn't a creep like the rest of the guys they'd encountered. They all had fancy names, so their real identities never slipped out. They named themselves after flowers and cars and jewels.

 

He pulled off his sweater back in the dressing rooms where the girls were touching up their makeup and the other guys were primping in the mirror. Oh yeah, his club had men too.

 

It wasn't a queer club necessarily. It was still mostly women who did performances, but the men were up for grabs too. If a customer asked, they'd service them. He did a once over in the mirror. He still didn't like how he had to look. Shorts (too short), work boots, and suspenders hanging at the sides of his legs. It make him look tinier than usual; he could pick out the bones in his chest and the dips of his hipbones were all too visible.

 

* * *

 

“Hey Stevie, one of your clips is undone in the back.” Said a coworker.

 

Her name was Jasmine. Not really, but that was the only name she'd given him.

 

“What? Oh-”

 

“Nah, I got it.”

 

She came into view and spun him around by his shoulder. He could feel her long nails brush against his lower back. A cigarette poked out from her ruby red lips. She smiled and ran a hand through his hair.

 

“Looking handsome, baby boy.”

 

He rolled his eyes and smiled fondly. His cheeks burned as red as her lips and the end of her cigarette. Basically, he didn't know how to respond to compliments.

 

“Come on now, Jas.”

 

She laughed and pulled her cigarette out only to kiss him on the cheek.

 

“Good luck tonight. Knock em dead.”

 

The people he worked with were very nice. They all came from the same place, financially, so there was the mutual understanding of desperation and apathy. The women were awful friendly to Steve, not romantically, but more of a little brother way. He was pretty young, most of them were older than him. He was reminded of this when he heard talk about finding babysitters and how so-and-so’s son just entered the 6th grade.

 

Makeup. That was also something he did, now.

 

His eyeliner was started by a man named Marlin finished by a lady named Paris. Despite his affinity for the visual arts, Steve was no good at makeup. He just wore eyeliner, that's all that was needed to complete his persona.

 

He looked back in the mirror and smudged his waterline a bit more with his pinky. It was navy blue. It “brought out his eyes”.

 

The women all had their types that they fit into. The innocent virgins, the experienced dominatrixes, the girls next door. There were outliers, too; unique girls that didn't fit the mold.

 

However, there were only two types of men. There were the men who wanted to be treated as such and the ones who didn't.

 

Steve was the latter.

 

He was delicate. He batted his eyelashes and lazily swirled his hips when he leaned his elbows on the guest’s tables. He smiled a very practiced smile, the heart melting kind. He flirted and teased and pretended like he was made of liquid gold. He was a pretty boy. A married man’s wet dream. He had to sell himself as such.

 

* * *

 

Steve was a waiter. He served drinks. He wasn't a stage dancer, but he did do a lot of “private shows” in the velvet back rooms. He did lap dances, he did duo shows, he did… ahem. Other things. Things he'd get offered a lot more money for and try and scrub off in the shower. Things he'd let other men take him home for.

 

“Hey dollface, get me another beer?”

 

Steve was grabbed by the hip and a few bills shoved into the waistband of his pocket. He let himself get pulled along towards whatever table needed him. God, he hated the grabby ones.

 

“Sure thing. Need anything else?” He put on a practiced smile.

 

He hated this guy already. He was paying for his drink by giving Steve money in the wrong way. Money in his clothes was where he kept tips. Secondly, he was _touching him_. There was a strict hands off policy. Steve could touch the customers, but they couldn't touch him back. He swatted away the hand and kept his same smile.

 

“Your mouth on my cock.”

 

The man wasn't sober. Steve chuckled.

 

“Only if you pay for it.”

 

Unfortunately, he was dead serious. The man turned back to his friends, conversing about what he'd told them. They were astonished. They probably hadn't expected Steve to be “available”. Steve worked at a diverse club, and they prided themselves on that. All genders, all races, all sexualities, all types of people preformed. Steve just so happened to appeal to guys more, despite women being guests too.

 

He pulled the bills from his shorts, rolled them up and stuffed them in his pocket. He leaned over and picked up the empty bottle in front of him.

 

“I'll have that right out for you, sweetheart.”

 

Bunch of fucking creeps.

 

Steve was sliding drinks onto his tray and dreaming about a hot shower when his whole world stopped. He heard a laugh. Bucky. It was Bucky. That was his laugh, he’d just heard Bucky.

 

He whipped around. He had to be hearing things; there was no way Bucky was at his bar.

 

No.

 

There he was, sitting amongst a cloud of men from the docks with a beer in his hand. He looked relaxed and a little tired. He’d worked a full day. He should have been home by now. His eyes were crinkled in that fleeting way that Steve had tried to draw before. He lifted his beer bottle, swirling it. It was mostly empty. He’d probably ask for another one soon…

 

_No._

  
Steve hurried to serve his drinks, ignoring the customer’s gazes. As soon as he could, he fled to the back of the bar. Bucky could _not_ see him here. He buried his face in his hands. Shit. As if his job wasn’t dangerous enough, avoiding police and domineering clients. His best friend was out there. Steve had to stay as far away from him as possible.


	2. But Now He Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is at Steve's club. What the fuck is Steve supposed to do now?

What the hell was Bucky doing there? It didn't matter, he'd avoid him as best he could. He couldn't afford to make a scene with customers around. Their heat was going to be shut off at the end of the week unless he made money. So, he put back on his stage persona, and strode back over to the group of men who'd been ogling him earlier. Away from Bucky. 

 

He’d been tugging at the first one’s tie when he heard commotion break out. Fucking great, Bucky was the one starting it. He was prepared to ignore it, but decided to intervene when the staff started to close in. He dashed over to the closest one he could see and grabbed him by the wrist. None of them needed this. "Leave him alone, he's a high paying customer." Lies. "We can't throw him out." The guard sighed. He was friendly with Steve, they often chatted backstage. "Fine." He deadpanned and dispelled the rest of the staff. The bar had gone quiet. 

 

Steve threw a glance at Bucky, quickly meeting his wild eyes. Steve didn’t have time to look guilty. He didn’t have the energy to talk about this. He didn't need this.

 

He needed to go back to work. 

 

He turned away just as he saw Bucky pick up his coat and go to leave. God, he wanted to follow after him. Everything was too dark and too out of place now, and he wanted this to be okay. He wanted to forget about what just happened and that his best friend, no, the man he loved irrevocably, didn't just see him like this. He'd planned on telling him, maybe someday, but now he'd look at him like all the other men in the club did. Like a cheap whore. This job didn't always make Steve feel dirty. Again, plenty of his coworkers were strapped for cash just like he was. He wasn't alone. The times alone with gross men who were married with kids no longer made him feel dirty. The customers who broke the rules and touched him, trailed their filthy hands along his skin, they didn’t make him feel dirty. 

 

But this? He felt disgusting. 

 

Bucky wouldn’t look at him the same anymore. He couldn't go home and be normal. Steve had to finish out the night. He only had an hour left, anyways. He needed the cash now more than ever. He needed to focus on something else other than Bucky. His practiced smile slipped back on. He brushed off some glitter from his knees, and he resumed his rounds at another table.

 

Steve had worked harder than he ever did before the following hour. He needed something, anything, to distract him. He had intruding thoughts of what Bucky thought about him. Did he think he was easy? Would he get angry? He probably would, he was always pissed at something or other. He wouldn't dare kick him out for this, would he? Fuck, he took that damn job to pay for their apartment. Still, he made his rounds. He took many more private shows than he would be proud to admit, he needed to get away from the crowd. He retreated to the dressing rooms as his shift came to his close. He'd have to go home now. Steve was buttoning up his shirt when he noticed more glitter on his knees. God, how did that shit keep sticking to him? 

  
  


It was cold outside. He never brought his coat with him, it was too nice to get misplaced. It was a long walk and it only emphasized how sore he was. It felt embarrassing. The cold helped soothe his tired muscles, a little bit. His chest tightened as he turned onto their block. Bucky was still awake. He knew he was. Steve couldn't just quietly slip into bed and pass out like he normally did. Their lights were out. He made his way up the stairs and his body was ready to give out. His fingers were shaking while he fumbled with his keys and he took a deep breath before opening the door. 

 

A couple of careful steps in and Steve found Bucky at the kitchen table. His fingers were loosely wrapped around a bottle of whiskey (that Bucky must have gone out and bought because they didn’t have any until just now). There was a glass at the far end of the table that he’d abandoned. It took Bucky a slow second to look up at him. His head wouldn’t quite stay up and he had a distant look on his face. 

 

"Oh hey. You're home." He slurred. 

 

Bucky was binge drinking again. Great. That definitely wouldn't make him moody and terrible. Steve pushed the door closed and took a few steps forward. He wanted to keep his distance. 

 

"Hey." He kept his eyes anywhere else but Bucky. 

 

He felt more shameful than he'd ever felt before. He crossed his arms over his stomach, his keys dangling from his fingers. There were probably a multitude of things that Bucky was ready to say. Steve had things he wanted to say too. There wasn't much to explain, though. What was there to deny? He was a prostitute. 

 

"If you’re gonna call me names, that's fine." He swallowed hard. "It's not like I haven't heard them before." 

 

"Just-" He sighed. "Just say something."

 

Bucky just stared at him, like he was trying to figure all this out. It was like he was trying to see how this all made sense. Steve didn’t blame him. It didn’t. Bucky opened his mouth but quickly closed it. He shook his head defiantly. 

 

"It's nothin'."

"I get that you're wasted but that doesn't mean you're mute." He spat, more angrily than he intended. 

 

Steve had no right to be angry with him. This was his fault. He'd serviced some of Bucky's dock buddies before. He was obviously in the wrong. 

 

"We're dirt poor right now." Steve muttered. He kept hugging his arms to his stomach. 

 

"And- And our heat's gettin’ shut off soon and you're working overtime every night and-" He let out a shuddering breath. 

 

Why did he want to cry? 

 

"I had to do something. You couldn't support the both of us by yourself." He said, after a tense pause. 

 

“I guess not.” Bucky agreed. His voice wavered. 

 

"Do you fuck 'em, Steve?" He cocked his head to the side, squinting a little. 

 

Steve burned a dark red. 

 

"All those guys, waving that money in your face. Do you..." Bucky grimaced as he trailed off. 

He  _ was _ calling him easy. He would never dare to call him that upfront, but that was the gist. He wouldn't have dared to say anything like this sober. Probably would have just yelled at him until his voice hurt and smoked a pack on their balcony. Steve hadn't moved a muscle. He'd slept with a couple men before. On the days he knew there wouldn't be food in the house come morning. He wondered where Bucky thought the extra money was coming from. Maybe he thought Steve had a regular job. Surprisingly, Steve’s current one didn't make a killing.

 

"I don’t like it. I don't like doing it often." He replied, sheepish and quiet. He had to. For them. 

 

"Why do you care?" Steve asked, louder. 

 

“I don’t.”  
  
And with that, Bucky grabbed his pack of Lucky Strikes from his pocket. He clumsily got up and headed for their balcony. 

 

Steve followed him, like he'd wanted to back at the club. He smacked his keys into the bowl by their door and strode over. 

 

"Listen, I'm not a whore, okay?" 

 

He didn't know why he was angry, why he felt hurt. Maybe he felt over exposed. 

 

"I'm not some cheap whore who likes getting fucked for money, I'm not like that!" He was probably being too loud, it was the middle of the night. 

 

" And I'm not gonna let you treat me like all those other creeps. Because  _ you're _ not like that either."

 

Bucky whipped back around. 

 

"How could you do this to me, Steve?" As drunk as he was, Bucky knew how to fight with Steve. 

 

"You wait 'til night, huh? When I'm workin' a double, and you go out there, and you sell yourself, like..." He wrinkled his nose. 

 

Like a whore. Bucky wouldn’t say it.    
  


"I popped that guy, Stevie. I busted him right in the chops for sayin' you did that, and you're telling me he was right?" A tear slipped down Bucky’s face. 

 

That’s why he’d punched that guy he was with. Because he’d slept with Steve and told Bucky about it. 

 

"You're tellin' me you're for sale?"

 

"You think I like it?" Steve asked incredulously.  "You think I like those married men touching me all over?" Steve was almost shouting now. 

 

He didn't care if the neighbors heard him. They could all see him sneaking out in shorts anyways. 

 

"You think I like getting grabbed and scratched and stared at like a piece of meat? I could get arrested any day now! You think I like dancing around with bruises on my knees and walking back without a coat?" 

 

He hated seeing Bucky cry. He was too angry to stop. 

 

"Because I don't! I don't and you're an ungrateful son of a bitch, James. We wouldn't have hot water unless I did all this!"

 

"I don't want fucking hot water more than I want you!" Bucky’s eyes went wide, unable to take back what he’d said. It was obvious he hadn’t meant for that to slip out. 

 

Steve went cold.

 

_ No. _

 

Bucky wiped at his nose with his shirt sleeve. 

 

"So don't sit here and tell me how much you don't like it because I never asked for it! I never asked you for a goddamn cent, and I'm sorry it's been a struggle, but I'm doing my best." He went on. 

 

“Just go to bed.” Bucky took in a wavering sigh. 

 

There was silence as Steve tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. 

 

“You what?” His voice quivered. 

 

Bucky shook his head sadly.

 

The back and forth rally had stopped. He was breathing heavy because honestly he shouldn't get so worked up, it wasn't good for his health. He couldn't do anything but stare. He contemplated reaching out to him but Bucky would never want to touch him, now. He wanted him too. He'd sometimes pretend that the other men, that they were him, that they weren't using him and throwing him away and that all his fantasies were coming true. Steve had been gone for him for ages. Bucky wanted him back? 

 

"Go." He insisted, waving Steve towards the bedroom. "Get some sleep. It's late."

 

"No, I-" 

 

He thought about listening to him and going to bed. God knows he needed it. Steve was sore all over. He'd usually try and shower after work, but it didn't feel necessary now. He chewed on the inside of his lip and crossed his arms. 

 

"It's not gonna mean anything if I told you I want you back, is it?" He said, finally.

 

It was out there. Bucky could do whatever he wanted with it.

 

Bucky  _ winced _ . “Why…?” He shrugged. “No. Doesn’t change anything. And… and I can’t even take care of you.” 

 

"Neither of us can." Steve laughed to himself. 

 

This was probably the wrong time to laugh about anything. The conversation was slowed way down. Bucky wasn't quick (or sober enough) to answer and Steve wouldn't push him to. 

 

"I'm in love with you, Bucky." He looked away. He smiled in disbelief. He said that. There was no back tracking. 

 

"I'm in love with you, and everything is awful. I just wanted us to survive."

 

Bucky nodded and murmured a soft, “Okay.”  

 

"If you don't-" Steve grasped for words. "Want-" 

 

'Want me anymore' was what he’d been trying to say. Why would he still want him? Steve had already been used. 

 

"Fuck, it's nothing." He stared at Bucky wearily. "I need to lay down. So do you. Take the bed."

 

"I need to clean up." He told Steve, voice raspy from the earlier shouting. "You take the bed."

 

He still wanted to touch him. 

 

"I'm not letting you roll off and crack your skull open."

 

Steve would be fine. He'd use his coat as a blanket. 

 

"You're drunk." He said, like it wasn't new information. It really wasn't. "You... just take the bed. Don't fight me."

 

Bucky scowled. He turned on his heel and left. 

 

Steve watched him leave and as soon as he left his sight, he went over to the kitchen. He heard the shower turn on as his eyes landed on the bottle of whiskey. It was mostly empty and it pained Steve in the bottom of his gut. He did this. He grabbed the bottle and stashed it in an empty pantry. 

 

It didn't feel real, yet. His mind was still buzzing as it had been for the past hour and a half. Steve thought that once he saw him, he'd become a sleaze like everyone else. He wouldn't respect him anymore. He still didn't know what Bucky had been doing at his club specifically. There was another one much closer. Perhaps it was closer to work. 

 

Steve had watched Bucky drink himself stupid before. The sound of pouring and glass thumping against their kitchen table still made him wince. Bucky'd forgone that, this time. 

 

Steve needed to change clothes. He was still wearing his shorts from work and a too-big dress shirt. He suspected he grabbed the wrong one. Steve had slipped on a different pair of boxers and was shirtless when Bucky came into the bedroom. Steve was only there to get clothes and leave, so he dug around for an undershirt.

 

Steve didn't say anything. This was easily the worst fight they'd ever had. Steve would still have to go back to work tomorrow night. Bucky walked past and laid down. He wasn't sure if the shower had sobered him up any. He looked like he'd aged 10 years and his jaw was set forward. Still angry, too tired to do anything about it. He got lost in thought before mentally slapping himself in the face and finally finding a shirt that was his. He put it on and reached to the ground to pick up his discarded dress shirt. He slipped it back onto his shoulders. It was going to be a cold night. Steve began to leave, but cast a glance back at Bucky before he did.

 

Bucky rolled over, deliberately not looking at him. 

 

He and Bucky usually slept together when it was this cold. Steve didn't have any fat to heat him, and Bucky was fairly warm, so he'd spend nights pressed up against him. It was basically how he stayed alive the last time he had pneumonia. Not anymore. Never again. That wasn’t even something they’d even have to discuss. 

 

He shouldn't have looked at him, back in the club. His best friend was gone. Things would never be the same again. 

 

He mumbled a soft "G'night," before ducking out of the room and heading to the front door. 

  
He grabbed his coat off the coat rack and curled up on the couch. It was cold as hell out there. Was their heating cut off already? Fuck, the money wasn't due till the end of the week. He kinda felt like he deserved it, with everything that happened. Steve debated sneaking into bed but decided that it would likely make things much worse. He couldn't cry, even though he wanted to. It wasn't worth it. The events of the night played over and over in his head until he finally fell into a fitful sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, chapter 2! This one was a bit faster to write as I was pulling a lot of stuff from the rp. I'm on winter break so you'll definitely get a chapter soon. Maybe on Christmas?


	3. So What the Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve had had a long night and was in for a longer morning, apparently. Bucky isn't coping well.

When Steve woke up, he was shivering.

 

"Hey... wake up. Come to bed."

 

What time was it? What was going on? It was dark and Bucky was shaking him awake, did something bad happen? Did someone die or- oh. Right. He pieced together what had happened and rubbed his eyes. Bucky found out about him. They’d had a fight. They both confessed to loving each other. He’d slept on the couch. It was freezing. Really, was their heat off? Son of a bitch. He groaned, sitting up. His coat slid off and the cool air hit his bare shoulders. Steve scrambled to drape it back over himself and stood up. He said nothing.

 

"Come on." Bucky said.

 

He wasn't going to push Bucky away. He was the one asking him back, after all. It was cold as can be and Steve wasn’t set on getting pneumonia again. Bucky reached around to hold his coat close. He guided him back towards his room with a hand on his back. He didn't try and talk to him as they walked.

 

"Get under the covers." Bucky insisted and shoved him towards the bed they usually shared.

 

Getting this cold could mean bad news for Steve. He could get really sick from it. He felt hazy as Bucky dragged him back to their room. He wasn't avoiding him like the plague, like Steve thought he would. Their argument and the still tense air that hung around him was easy to ignore as he crawled back in bed. He pulled the blanket over him and his coat. He still was adamant on not making Bucky sleep on the couch. He felt a wave of relief when the bed shifted with his weight. He carefully wriggled under the blanket and kept his back turned.

 

He was aware that Bucky would definitely not be keen on snuggling up to him like usual, but he was too groggy to think straight. He rolled over and latched onto him. He wasn't gonna get sick over this. Steve prepared himself for Bucky to push him off and savored the warmth while he could.

 

Bucky tensed for a quick moment, but didn’t move him off. Huh.

 

They didn't have to talk about it right now, they both needed to sleep.

 

Somehow, Bucky being there made things better. Like he didn't hate him, like he still cared enough to get him in bed, like this wasn't going to be a terrible thing that he drank over. He was still shaking a little when Bucky relaxed, so he gripped tighter, to make it stop.

 

“You okay now?” Bucky murmured into the dark.

 

He nodded, his chin grazing Bucky's back. He didn't want to think about everything that happened, but he couldn't help it. He was draped around the guy it happened with. He waited before actually saying anything.

 

"I'm sorry." He offered quietly. Guiltily.

 

Guilt. Steve had convinced himself he was past that, at this point. With what he did. Having the man he was in love with find out was a bit like hashing open an old scar.

 

"Me too." Bucky said back.

 

"Y'didn't do anything."

 

He wished Bucky would roll over and hold him like he usually did. He understood if he didn't want to. He didn't give him a real answer, so Steve wasn't going to either. It wasn't worth it. He was likely terribly hungover. Steve's whole body was tired. It felt like he'd spent hours shouting and his limbs were still aching. He let himself take what he could get, awkward feelings and all, and fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

He stirred a while later, only to find that his head was on Bucky's chest. From what he could see through the door, it was just barely dawn, blue light coating what he could see in the apartment. He didn't have to get up yet. He could still enjoy this. Steve wasn’t sure how long he’d even shut his eyes for but soon after, he felt Bucky pressing up against him in a funny way. Christ, he was trying to sleep. Bucky was grinding lazily against his thigh and gripping hard onto his shoulder. Fuck no. He wasn’t gonna take that after all those things he’d said.

 

"Hey." He mumbled, voice thick with fatigue.

 

Steve reached up to pat his cheek. He wasn't sure if he was awake or asleep or somewhere in between but Steve wasn't having any of this.

 

"Get up." He pat his cheek again, more incessantly.

 

Bucky wrinkled his nose at the touch and groaned.  
  
“What?”

 

He opened his eyes and it looked like his mind finally caught up to what the hell he was doing, because he pushed away from him as fast as he could.

 

“Shit-” Was all he managed to get out before he’d gotten up out of bed and out the door.

 

Steve rolled onto his back and let out a breath. Men. He wasn’t sure what to make of Bucky pulling something like that. It felt like Bucky was calling him easy, in a way, but Bucky wasn’t the type of guy to just violate him out of nowhere. Steve knew the kind of guys who did that. Bucky didn’t even hold a candle to that level of… filth.

 

See, Steve wouldn’t have an issue with doing stuff like that with him. God knows he'd always wanted to. It was for that reason too; Bucky wasn’t a bad person. Sex didn't worry Steve all that much, if he was being honest. He hadn't been with great guys. They were needy and controlling and Steve never had a choice in how they went about fucking him. He bet Bucky was a gentle lover. Attentive and calm. He'd be soft when he ran his hands along his thighs, he wouldn't be too rough. Steve had almost nodded back off but opened his eyes when Bucky zipped back in. Right. There was the Bucky he knew. He looked insanely embarrassed. Steve didn't care, he was sleepy and annoyed.

 

"What, you're not gonna buy me dinner first?" Alright, that was terrible. Possibly the worst joke he'd ever tried to make.

 

"Okay, I'm sorry, bad timing." He sat up, stretching his arms and pulling his knees to sit cross legged. He watched as Bucky hopped into a pair of pants.

 

"I buy you dinner every night." Bucky shot back, looking startled by how easily his comeback slipped out and Steve had to stifle a laugh at that. Damn, Barnes.

 

“Touche." He flopped back down.

 

Steve lifted his head only to stare at Bucky shirtless. It felt fair, considering he'd been dry humped. He wondered if they were going to talk about last night. Steve danced with the idea of skipping work that night if only to try to make amends. He knew he couldn’t leave at the drop of a hat. People would talk. People might go looking, like Bucky’s dock friends. Jesus. He was in over his head.

Bucky and his morning exchanges always felt weird, mostly because it wasn't normal to wake up with your platonic same sex friend. He got up out of bed and started to get dressed. He would usually stay in his undershirt and boxers for most of the morning, but he didn't feel like wearing his coat in the house. It felt excessive. He followed Bucky to the kitchen for breakfast before realizing that they couldn't make anything. No food. That's why he smelled smoke. Bucky was a chain smoker through and through and it helped tide hunger, so he said. He kept an arm's length away from him, not wanting smoke blown in his face.

 

“Gonna go in - see if I can pick someone's shift at work." Bucky said, stubbing out his cigarette out of courtesy.

 

Work, great. This was bound to come up sooner or later. Steve nodded before softly speaking.

 

"I should-" He spoke barely above a whisper, fearing that if he spoke any louder that the fight would resume.

 

“‘Should probably work tonight, get some money for food.” He didn't dare look at him. The shame was back.

 

Bucky’s gaze hardened and he opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but shut it.

 

"Do whatever you want." he said, voice wound tight like a piano wire.

 

No, he definitely shouldn't have said anything. He felt exactly like he did the night before, he was even standing in the same spot. He felt exposed, disgusting, disrespected. Bucky was angry again. Steve wasn’t gonna take that again.

 

"We don't have _food_ , we don’t have _heat_..." They needed heat, at the very least. Steve would get sick otherwise.

 

"I don't want-" There was no point. He didn't want to fight anymore.

 

Bucky scoffed, "Do you even hear yourself? We don't have heat - so I'm gonna go fuck strangers for money. How does that even-" Bucky stopped himself and swallowed. He wasn’t looking at him anymore.

 

That stung. He didn't always fuck strangers. Not if he could opt out of it. Maybe he had to, tonight. To pay for the heat. It only pissed off Bucky. Steve was planning on quitting as soon as they had money to play around with and they weren't even slightly close to that.

 

"I'll be back later." Bucky said said, pulling on his coat and brushing past Steve on his way out the door.

 

This was never going to be okay, was it? They weren't “just friends” anymore. This wasn't an okay thing to do, to someone you had feelings for. He needed the money, though. _They_ needed the money. That's how life had to be. Steve showered as soon as Bucky left. It was early enough that there'd still be hot water, no one was up. His chest hurt and he wasn't sure why until he looked down. Shit. He had nail marks running down his chest. He knew that a client had been a little too rough with him and it showed. It had been too dark for Bucky to see, that's why it didn't come up. He would have raised hell if he noticed. Steve couldn't eat for the day, their fridge was empty. That's why he'd been working so late the night before. To pick up money for food. It was all in vain, clearly.

 

He didn't like any part of what he did, he hated the customers, he hated the venue, and he hated the smell of booze that stuck to his clothes. He especially hated the fake personality he took on. It wasn't him at all, it felt awful. He had to do it. They were both skinnier than they'd ever been. He couldn't take it anymore, he needed to fix it, he needed to do _something, anything_.

 

Steve mindlessly went through his morning routine. He dug around in their medicine cabinet for some ointment for his chest. Again, he felt dirty. Why couldn't Bucky understand that he was trying to help them? He couldn't possibly work 7 days a week, that was insane. Steve was hurt. He was angry, he was upset, he felt guilty and for what? Who was he doing it for? For Bucky?

 

Bucky was disgusted by him.

  
“Damn it!” He shrieked. He was letting his feelings get the best of him. He whipped the tube of ointment at the mirror, accomplishing nothing, really. His fists were balled tight as he backed up into the wall, sliding down it with heaving breaths. He dropped to the floor and hung his head between his knees. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks.  
  
What was he doing it all for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have chapter three! I'm so sorry for the delay. The holidays were hectic and because of how my school works, we have exams really soon after break and I've been studying. Also I'm sick. Excuses, excuses, excuses. I might have more time to write considering my finals are really spaced out, but I can't make any concrete promises for a chapter within the week. Please leave me some comments! I wanna know how you're liking the story so far. Later!


End file.
